


Learning Curve

by My_Black_Crimson_Rose6



Series: 2015 Holiday Gift-Fics [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Teacher! Washington, Crushes, English Teacher! Locus, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Matchmaking, Talk about Literature, Tattoo Artist! Felix, Valentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5448002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6/pseuds/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their English teacher, Mr. Locus Reyes, obviously had a huge crush on the art teacher. And it was obvious that the art teacher, Mr. David Washington, had a crush on him too. So their students would give them a little push in the right direction. </p><p>Though, maybe they didn't need to after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Curve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuckyLocus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyLocus/gifts).



> For LuckyLocus. Who always has my back and tells me to go to sleep when its 3AM ;) I was looking for really really cute prompt ideas for this one ‘cause I just just finished exam and my brain is being slow and all I’m thinking for them is smut and I told you I’m not writing you smut this time. So yeah here have them in an au.
> 
> Teachers AU: where their students ship them but Locus won’t let them say anything.

Locus leans against the table he had connected to his desk to give him more room to clutter it with papers and novels. He’s been teaching at the high school for about five years now, lucky enough to score a position shortly after his placement had finished at Chorus High the years before that. The teacher he had been shadowing put a few words in and he was hired on for half the year as a substitute before a position of a full-time teacher opened up for him to grab.

It was interesting. Locus wasn’t much of a people person, and high school hadn’t exactly been enjoyable—he and his brother-of-choice where a part of the delinquents and Locus still very much looked to be as tough as he had been that summer between college and high school. Tattoos curving up and down his arms and chest, piercings through his lower lip on both side. He had taken out most of his earrings, but his boss hadn’t yet voiced any concern for his appearance.

If anything, Locus was shocked to hear from one of the school’s guidance counselors that some of the students’ felt a little… _calmer_ with his appearance being so wild. He didn’t get it, but he wasn’t about to go get his tattoos covered when shirt sleeves could be rolled down.

“I left off last class’ discussion about chapter seven of Anil’s Ghost.” Locus opened his glasses case, pulling his black thick rimmed lens from the case and sliding it upon his nose. He swept his long rich brown hair back and away from his face, turning on the overhead projector for the slideshow he had made.

He may teach grade twelves literature, but they were still kids. Locus gets the struggle of balancing subjects and work, after school activities and friendships. Sometimes the PowerPoints provided a little guide to what he would discuss too—his students knew that not everything he’d say is on the slide and many of the important things are something he says.

He heard a few groans as he dove into the symbolism of the skeletons—the names that Anil had chosen—though he found it late to be discussing the symbolism now. Though maybe they had already gotten through the novel and was re-reading it like he had done before writing out his lectures. “Enough bemoaning, you knew what you were getting into with taking advance Literature. Wait until we get to _Brave New World_ —even _I’m_ not fan of that.”

Sometimes there was a novel that you couldn’t shake from your reading list. Locus had been able to remove Shakespeare knowing full well that his writing wasn’t the easiest and replaced it with _The Glass Menagerie_ simply because he had to have (at least) one play in his curriculum still. He had added _Slaughter House Five_ , _Coraline_ , The _Outsiders_ , _Waiting for Godot_ , and _The Road_ had made the cut on top of an independent study and the first section of the year where they focused on short stories and poems.

There was always certain things Locus had to have in his curriculum and this had been the first time he was able to weasel his way out of Shakespeare. He had read all of these novels previously to having to teach them—he read both _The Road_ and _Waiting for Godot_ in his first year of college Lit. _Coraline_ and _Slaughter House Five_ was another two that he read in his post-secondary education. They were interesting reads and depending on the schooling they pursue they might just have to read it again later—it made it easier the second or third time reading something.

The class seemed to trickle on with ease as Locus opened discussions and a few of his students perked up with some observations that they’ve discovered. Some of it was on the chapters previous but all topics were welcome around the novel. There were times where _Anil’s Ghost_ could get confusing more so than normal.

The period ended with Locus calling out a reminder on the homework. “I want you to finish the novel. We’re moving on to The Outsiders next week!” He slid his glasses from the perch on his nose, setting them back in his case and falling back into his chair with a sigh. He had one more class today and then he was done for the day.

No papers to mark yet, no tests to grade. It was still early enough in the year that he wasn’t downing one cup of coffee after the next to keep himself up. He only had his students write three five to seven page essays and one discussion on their choice of either _The Road_ or _Brave New World_. And of course one of those essays was about their independent study novel.

The knock on his door had Locus grunting, raising his head to look at his visitor. “David,” the man blinked, a heat fanning out within his chest when he caught the gaze of the art teacher. “Don’t you have a class in ten minutes?”

The blond haired man shrugged, walking into the class and closing the distance between the door and Locus’ desk. “It’s the seniors next period and they’re working on their large canvas paintings.” He took a seat on the corner of the table pushed up flush against Locus’ desk. “I heard that next week you’re talking about The Outsiders—it’s one of my personal favourites.”

 _I know_. Locus does not voice his thoughts though he remembers talking to the art teacher about the new readings he was throwing into this year. It was a test. Spice up everything and give his students more of an option in writing their essays. “And why is that?” he licked his lips, widening his seated stance.

“I read it back in eighth grade. I think I fell in love with it then because of Dally—don’t get me wrong, I love his character still—”

Locus cut him off with a wave of a hand. “You don’t need to explain your love for something, or find some logical explanation for why you enjoy it. Sometimes you just love something for the sake of loving it. Sometimes you fall for novels for just the characters, sometimes it’s the world, sometimes it’s the author.” There was just something about David Washington that made him so easy to speak to. “Plus, Dallas is an interesting character,” Locus smirked, tapping a finger as the table in thought. He leaned forward, wheeling himself closer to the blond haired man.

“You know… I keep saying I want to draw you but I never get the change to.” His smile makes Locus’ heart race, makes a smile threaten to pull at his own lips. “You should swing by the art room after school? If you have time of course.”

Locus had time. Locus would always have time for David. “I have time.” The five minute warning bell sounded and both men looked to the other, “but it seems you’re short on it.”

David snorted, “yeah yeah Mr. Reyes. I’ll see you after school.”

\--

It was obvious that Locus wasn’t meant to overhear, let alone pluck the paper from the table that the group of his female students were passing around the lunch period that he had to monitor the cafeteria. Locus dropped the paper like it _burned_ , a startled sound _cletching_ in his throat as the words would forever burn his retinas.

He praised his dark skin for hiding the worse of his blush— **Mr. & Mr. Washington or Mr. & Mr. Reyes?** Was this shipping? He’s heard the term many a time but it had never quite dawned upon him until right that moment as the group of his fourth year literary studies students stared up at him in growing fear.

“You say nothing of this to Mr. Washington and I will ignore this. Just… hide that,” he gestured to the paper on the table. Turning stiffly, Locus didn’t give his students a moment to reply before he was slinking away from the students and towards an empty table so he could regain his cool.

\--

It was his own fault for not assuming that that _shipping thing_ wouldn’t appear on Valentine’s Day when the student body did its annual Candy-o-grams. Cue the theme of Valentines and the importance to not be single on that day. Has Locus ever been in a relationship for Valentine’s Day? He doesn’t remember.

They’ve moved seamlessly from _The Outsiders_ to _Coraline_ , and their first essay is looming overhead. He had told them about the deadlines of each essay at the very beginning of class that first day—he was still in the mindset of College classes and how everything was formatted. Plus, it helped the students plan accordingly ahead of time if need be.

 _Coraline_ was another short novel focused on a younger audience, but the themes of it were dark enough that Locus felt that he could have them drabble a bit further into the topic at a high school level. “Can anyone tell me the importance of the metaphor of food in this? How about how Coraline takes to the thought of tasting new foods?” He raised a brow at his thirty-two students, not one of them raised their hand. “I’ll give you a hint: think British foods. Coraline is from Britain, so think with the mindset of that.”

 _Oh!_ Locus smirked at the soft gasp before a hand was raised—just as two members of the student council came knocking on the back door of his classroom. Locus pointed to the girl near the window, “first Rebecca and then our guests.”

Rebecca cleared her throat, “isn’t the foods traditional, or at least, more common British meals? Like, fish and chips. Blood pudding—or whatever it was, I’m sorry I can’t remember exactly what. And then the meals that her father cooks, they’re all odd and not _very British_. And the Other Mother also plays up the fact that she likes these traditional meals.”

Locus smirked, nodding his approval. “Yes, that is one of the ways that I was looking at it as well. Another way is when we see how picky Coraline is, fish fingers—or _fish sticks_ to us—is an easy thing to make and children tend to enjoy more of the simpler things.” He cleared his throat, gesturing to the two at the door. “The floor is yours now.”

The two students (male and female) smiled to the class, “we’re here to hand out the Valentine’s, Mr. Reyes. It’ll only take a minute,” the girl smiled to the teacher. Taking the basket from her male partner she began digging through the names and cards, calling each person out and handing the candy and tiny love note that went along with it. Seven students in Locus’ class were handed goodies before the student council girl paused. “Mr. Reyes, there’s some for you as well.”

Locus startled, fumbling with one of the notes he had for the quote he was going to direct the classes attention to. “E-excuse me?” The girl only smiled, crossing the class towards his desk and setting the seven candy-valentine combinations on it. Locus swallowed, shyly opening one of the cards to see what the meaning of it was.

**_To Mr. Reyes  
Love, Washington_ **

He should’ve expected something like this. The gasps circulating his classroom made it seem like his whole _class_ was trying to set him up. He looked through the other six notes—all but one looked to be addressed the same. All but one written in a green pen that Locus _knew_ who stole it from him—that was the pen he liked marking tests with.

**_L. Reyes  
\- How much are you willing to bet that this gets read by noisy students? _ **

It hadn’t been signed; the pen did all the work for the sender. _Damn it_ , now Locus would have to confront the man now. Now that he’d be getting his own card with signed with bright purple ink—the kind that belongs to the vast collection of colours sitting on one David Washington’s desk. _Shit_.

“Quiet down,” Locus cleared his throat, pushing away the thoughts of Valentine’s Day and love notes. “We left off on the topic of Coraline and food—” He was a professional with a job to do, damn it. There was nothing that would stop him from teaching his students—it didn’t matter that they were all looking at him all knowingly as he fought back his blush.

\--

He was drawing when Locus walked into room 132’s art studio. Tucked away in the far corner of the school, David Washington made a home out of his space. Four long and thick tables divided up the empty space, canvas’ lining the walls and blocking out space on racks. Locus’ eyes were assaulted with colours—so many colours filling that large garage like space. Around Washington’s desks was an assortment of music equipment, couches and comfortable looking chairs.

This corner of level one was always the oddest in the way of classrooms. It held the drama room, with their carpeted floor and couches and painted walls (it’s understandable for the art room to have students paint on the walls but that was the _drama room_ ), and of course the costumes and clutter. There were the woodworking, automotive and welding shops all further down from Washington’s room. Then of course the photography and graphics and technology course around this area as well.

All-in-all, it made for an interesting explore.

“‘ _I’ll like to talk to you later.’_ Wow Locus, way to sound like the teacher you are,” the blond haired man teased from his couch, the lollipop that came with one of his gifts muffled his words. David closed his sketch book without another word, tossing it towards the chair beside the couch and tossing his pencil towards his desk—wincing when it bounced off and rolled along the bare cement floor. “Please sit,” he patted the couch beside him.

Locus sank into the cushions, seeing no point in wasting time he sucked in a breath. _Here it goes_. “Would you wish to accompany me for dinner on Saturday? As a date.” The man beside him blinked, lip twitching as the silence dragged out.

“Before I agree, I need you to do something for me.” David adjusted, tucking a leg under himself and turning to face the taller man head on. “I… have a _thing_ with kissing. It’s a pleasure of mine and I think learning just how my partner kisses before I get too involved—so if I don’t enjoy how they kiss, or if they don’t enjoy how _I_ kiss, we can learn to find an even style that we both may enjoy.” Wash watched the man before him swallow thickly, “and I can’t help but want to kiss the man whose lips have haunted my thoughts for well over a year now.”

It was _that_ that spurred the man into action. Into taking that beautiful freckled and scarred face in hand and sealing their lips together in a passionate, elegant first kiss. A touch of lips, just pressed together as David’s hand slid up Locus’ pressed and ironed slate grey button-up and cupped his neck. Easing his tongue past his teeth, his own lips, David gently prodded the muscle between the crease of the other’s lips. Sighing when entry was allowed so simply, Locus’ thumb swept over the blond’s cheek bone.

The kiss was gentle, slow with each press and slide of tongue. Only exploring the barest minimum, touching and counting teeth before allowing the other to explore. Each comfortable with that, with the touch and caress. He was gentle as he caressed David’s cheek, sighing when he pulled away for a breath of air. “How was that?” Locus couldn’t help but inquire, caressing that cluster of freckles still.

“I liked it. I liked it a lot,” David smiled in return. His grey-blue eyes fluttered closed as he darted in for one quick peck. Pulling away and pressing their foreheads together again, David chuckled. “Now I can’t wait to see how you kiss when you’re excited.”

\--

Three days. Three days and here he was sitting across from David as he raised a brow at Locus’ muses into his wine glass. “Don’t like the brand?” The blond man mused, tapping his chin. Locus shook his head, taking a small sip from his glass before setting it back to the table.

“It’s not that.” He answered simply.

The man before him tilted his head, “oh? Then what’s troubling you?” Again Locus shook his head in the negative. “Well, what’s plaguing your thoughts?” He smiled instead, a brow arching up in question.

“You. Ever since I started working here—to think I’m eating dinner with you now.” It was such a sappy thing to say and to say it now of all times. Felix would laugh at him, call him the sap that Locus claims the other in being. After all, Felix was the one that had the love for the romance novels, the films—anything he could get his hands on. He had been like that for as long as Locus knew him.

David’s cheeks coloured, “you _romantic_.” He swept a hand up through his hair, pushing the silk-like strands of wheat blond hair away from his forehead. “You’re a sap,” he whispered, gaze focused on the tablecloth as his cheeks fought to cool.

“But it’s the truth,” Locus leaned forward, taking the man’s hand. “I could wax poetry about you if I allowed myself the moment,” his emerald green eyes shown in the dim lighting overhead. His thumb caressing over David’s knuckles, over each bump and grove.

David chuckled, “what a pair we make. You and your poetry, and me and my artwork.” It was a romantic movie waiting to happen, though they’d no doubt switch one of them out as a woman and deny the world yet another shot for a LGBTQ+ friendly movie. “So what book are your students reading next?” He set his elbow on the table and his chin upon his fist. Books had always been something that they took pleasure in communicating about; it was simple falling into that habit that they’ve established long ago.

“They’re working on their essays at the moment but I’m pondering over letting them pick between _Brave New World_ and _The Road_ to read first. Both novels are going to be used for discussions,” David laughed at his words.

“Damn. Those are tough choices. I was never fond of either—not even the movie remakes either. The overall feel just didn’t click,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth at the final word. Pulling a face of disgust. “What’s on the agenda afterwards?”

“ _Slaughter House Five_. Looking forward to seeing their thoughts of that if they haven’t already read it.” Locus smirked. The book was another one that he read in his second year of college for a Science Fiction course. It had been confusing at times, mostly the first time reading it, but by the second and third Locus had loved the book. It was a fond memory; like an old friend greeting him every time he’d open the well-loved pages of his copy. David chuckled again, tilting his lips into the palm of his hand to hide the wide grin on his face. He was beautiful when he smiled; he was beautiful when he did just about everything. “You’re beautiful.”

David’s cheeks flared again, gaze dropping to the table cloth. “Y-you’re a sweet talker, stop with that.” He mumbled, stuttering over his words. At the _feeling_ behind each and every word. His heart raced, pounded in his ears like thunder—like a drum. _Ba-dum. Ba-dum._ He cleared his throat, “telling me about you. What do you do in your free time?”

“Read. Get dragged along with my roommate when he’s not working.” He answered simply. Nothing to prying; David would most likely get to those later.

“And what does your roommate do?”

Locus took his wine glass in hand, sipping at the red liquid before placing it back to the table. “He’s a tattoo artist—he’s my tattoo artist now.” David’s grey-blue eyes perked at the title, staring at him quizzically. “He’s like my brother. We grew up together since… earlier childhood. Lived on the same block, went to the same school.” He licked his lips, pausing to ponder over his next choice of words. Locus made it his job to speak for over three hours a day, teaching the next generation, but that didn’t mean that it came easily. Felix had always been the most talkative of the pair. And as easy as it was to talk to David Washington, Locus still worried that he might fumble. “He was the one that influenced me into getting my ink done in high school, and continues to fuel my addiction even now by touching up the colours and adding more ink to my skin.”

David’s face softened, “well I liked the ones that I’ve seen so far. I have some of my own as well, though they’re on my legs mostly. Easier to keep hidden from prying and judgemental eyes. The important ones haven’t been started yet.” Locus tilted his head in confusion. “I’m an _artist_ , Locus. Of course I have tattoos. Unfortunately I don’t have the talent nor dedication in applying it to my skin myself, but the artist that I see is enjoyable to work with and he understands my wish to work my way up my body rather than down it.”

Their waitress made an appearance at that moment, “sorry for the wait!” She grinned cheerfully, setting their meals in front of them.

“No trouble at all,” David grinned back at her, “I didn’t even notice the time.”

The woman’s smile widened, “is there anything else I can get for you two? A top off on your wine, sir?” Locus nodded his agreement. “And you?” She turned to David.

The blond waved her off, “no thank you, everything’s fine with me. Thank you though.” She nodded, informing both of them that she’d be right back with more wine. When she was out of sight David’s smile lessened, slipping into something more natural. “I hated working at the restaurant during college. Tips were good, sure, but you get some real assholes too.”

Locus did not know that about him. Though, David did seem to be in the business of talking with people. At least, he looked to come easier to it than Locus. “I worked part-time at the library,” Locus supplied, feeling the need to provide the man with a piece of information that equals his own. “I spent most of my time reading the books than putting them away.”

David snickered, picking up his utensils. “That does sound like something that you’d do,” he teased. Pushing the pasta around to get to the shrimp hidden beneath one of them. He brought the meat to his lips, taking a bite and humming at the flavour. “It’s been forever since I indulged in seafood—thank you.”

Locus could only nod—what could he possibly say to that? _Yeah, chicken is always easier to cook._ Or maybe even something like _yeah Felix likes red meat so we have a lot of that stocked in our apartment_. No, that would make it seem that maybe he and his roommate were extremely close—he didn’t want David thinking anything possibly romantic between he and Felix. Felix didn’t _do_ romance and Locus preferred it.

\--

David smiled, leaning against the railing leading up to his building. “Thank you for tonight, I had fun.”

“As did I,” Locus replied, leaning down to press their foreheads together. The blond man sighed, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “May I kiss you goodnight?” The blond’s eyes fluttered close, a soft hum of agreement tingling his ears. Locus pressed his lips to his; a press, a sigh against the other’s face before they were both pulling back with a lovestruck smile tilting the corners of their lips upwards.

“Goodnight Locus, I’ll see you Monday morning at work.”

“Of course David. Goodnight.” He stood there, fingers touching the tingle of his lips as the blond opened the front entryway to his building and threw a wave back towards him. A twitch in Locus’ fingers as he waved back. It was so painfully cliché—it made his heart thunder, beating like mad in his ribcage. Watching that blond head of hair disappear through that glass door and out of sight.

Only then did Locus leave. Only then did a _giggle_ of all things building in his throat as he shook with glee, leaving David’s building and making his way to his own apartment to gush at his roommate about the blissful evening that he had. 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't dabble into Felix much. He was only really mentioned. But I know how much you love Sharklix, so please by all means assume that Sharkface is one of Felix's regular clients ('cause Wash is too, I'm hinting at that). I mean, Felix does get around ;)


End file.
